The Billion-were Needs A Mate (The Alpha Billion-weres Book 1)

by Georgette St. Clair

  There were eight minutes left.

  Cliff’s Sikorski S92, a sixteen-seater helicopter, swooped down and landed, throwing up dust. Cliff hurried out with Truman and Taylor and Dax… The wolves poured out of the helicopter, and Serafina felt her heart leap in her chest.

  Jerrold looked as if he’d just swallowed a toad. He whirled around and stormed off.

  “Yeah, you better run!” Roger shouted after him.

  Austin and Grant ran full speed over to Cliff as Anita hurried forward. Everyone climbing off the chopper was covered with blood and dirt and leaves. They looked exhausted but triumphant. Rusty carried Chantelle off the helicopter. Her arms were around his neck and her head rested on his shoulder, and she was the color of Ivory soap.

  But they were alive. And they were home. Serafina let out a long, trembling breath of relief.

  Jerrold looked at Rusty with an expression that promised terrible vengeance. He ran over to them, his men following close behind. They held him back when he tried to lunge at Rusty.

  “You fucking traitor,” he raged. “It was you. You were the one who hit Leota in the face to frame me, weren’t you?” he spat at him. “You helped her leave me. Not for long. I’ll hunt her down. And after I win, I’m going to make Chantelle play jump rope with your intestines before I strangle her with them.”

  Rusty moved away from him, hurrying towards Anita.

  Austin shoved a canister of espresso at Cliff. Cliff grabbed it and drank it down in one long gulp. Grant handed him a plate of raw meat, and Cliff frantically shoved it into his mouth as they all hurried toward the starting line.

  Huh, Serafina thought. What do you know? Grant does care about Cliff, a little bit.

  Jerrold raced after them, swearing.

  “You’re a nice guy, Grant!” Taylor shouted as the men hurried to their places.

  Grant yelled back something that sounded like an insult, but it was drowned out by the blare of the starting horn.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  It was almost time.

  The moon was climbing higher in the sky. Taylor sat with Cliff, holding his hand, in a clearing on the west side of the property. Rusty, Anita and Chantelle sat nearby. Originally they’d planned to have Anita helping Taylor, but Chantelle was too sick. She needed all Anita’s strength.

  Jerrold and his men had been sent by helicopter to the far east side of the property, , thousands of acres away, so there was no chance the two groups would run into each other and fight in wolf form. During the day’s competition, Jerrold had come in second to Cliff. Overall, the ranking was Cliff, Grant and Jerrold just about neck and neck, then Austin.

  They’d finish in two days, with the fight between the competitors.

  But right now, they had other things to worry about. Like whether Chantelle and Taylor would survive the night.

  The first sign Taylor had that the change was coming was an odd yearning sensation in her chest, which swelled like a bubble until it seemed to fill her up and she had no room to breathe, no room to think. An itching sensation under her skin that intensified until she wanted to scratch her way out of her own skin.

  And then the feelings crested and burst, and the change swept over her. Her body bucked and contorted, her muscles spasming and contracting and utterly out of her control.

  She panted, holding back her panic, and saw that where Cliff held her hand in his, silky white fur was winding its way around her fingers and her fingernails were narrowing into claws.

  Cliff squeezed her hand – almost a paw – and grinned at her reassuringly, showing sharp white fangs. She bared her own newly pointy teeth, trying to return his smile, before the change took her again. Cliff had warned her that it would be painful the first time, and it was. She felt as if her bones were breaking, and she let out a long shriek that turned into a howl.

  And all the time Cliff was there with her, using his Dominus strength to slow his change so he could transform alongside her. Letting her see that he was with her. That they were together, in this and in everything.

  And then she was lying on the forest floor, her tail thumping feebly against the leaves as Cliff licked her muzzle and gave a series of quiet, reassuring whines.

  She scrambled to her paws and frantically looked around for Chantelle. Chantelle lay on her side on the ground, a lean white wolf. Her paw twitched. Her chest slowly rose and fell. Anita, a gray wolf, and Rusty, a red wolf, knelt next to her, nuzzling her with their snouts.

  A flash of movement in the forest caught her eye. A rabbit. Before she could stop herself, she was running after it, and Cliff was by her side. Names faded. Words faded. There was only the moon, and the hunt.

  * * * * *

  Taylor sat up with a groan. She was naked, lying on a bed of pine needles. Cliff was already up, back in his human form. The morning air was cool, and off in the distance, the rising sun was a ball of yellow fire floating in a sea of red and orange haze on the horizon.

  It was the strangest thing. Taylor remembered everything, even though when the night before, once she was fully in her wolf form, she had no longer been thinking as a human.

  She and Cliff had run off, leaving the others behind. They’d hunted rabbits and eaten them. Raw power had coursed through her veins, and the wind had rushed through her fur. The world of scent had come alive for her.

  A human’s sense of smell, compared to a wolf’s, was like seeing the world in black and white instead of vibrant, vivid, psychedelic, glorious Technicolor. She’d been able to smell not just pine, but the faint disturbance of the needles where the bunny’s flank had grazed against the bough in its flight. Slightly more pungent there – a darker shade of green, somehow – and brushed subtly with the musk of rabbit fur and panicky adrenaline. Where its paws had landed as it leaped over a fallen log, the prey animal had left spoor as distinct to her new senses as a flashing neon arrow.

  And Cliff’s scent…it was a multi-hued thing, layered from strength and familiarity and touched with flashes of color from other members of the pack – Austin’s spiky belligerence and the cool, pale menthol of Anita’s healing powers.

  It was like smell and color and texture and emotion all bundled up into a single sense.

  Now she felt tired and invigorated at the same time. It was real. It had happened. She was a werewolf, but she was still herself.

  She rubbed her face with her hands as Cliff walked over to her, yawning and stretching. “The helicopter will be here in a few minutes,” he told her. He grinned hugely. “You made it. We made it. You’re the prettiest wolf I ever saw. And you’re mine, by the way – have I mentioned that to you? Fucking mine.”

  “And you… Wait…Chantelle?” Taylor looked around frantically. She didn’t see Chantelle. Had she…?

  “Here! Jeez, woman, you really had a rough night, didn’t you?” Chantelle trotted out from behind a tree, hand in hand with Rusty. She was stark naked, and Taylor could see the wolf bite on her thigh. That was how Rusty had turned her.

  Chantelle looked brand new. Eyes sparkling. All her color had returned.

  “Excuse me, I’m not the one who looks like she styled her hair with an eggbeater,” Taylor said happily.

  “Seriously? Have you looked in a mirror?” Chantelle laughed and let go of Rusty to twirl like a ballerina. “Oh my God, I feel so great. I’d hug you, but we’re both naked, which makes things awkward.”

  Taylor smiled at Rusty. “You saved my friend, and I am forever grateful. And I’m sorry I spilled hot coffee on your crotch.”

  “So am I.” Rusty groaned at the memory, cupping his hands instinctively over his genitals.

  Cliff grabbed Taylor, spun her around and hugged her up against him. His enormous erection pressed into her stomach.

  “The only man whose crotch you should be discussing is me,” he said, only semi-joking.

  “Have I told you I love you?” she crooned at him. “Lately, I mean?”

  “Not since yesterday, so I feel sad and neglected.” He
bent down to kiss her, cupping her chin in his hand. His tongue forced its way into her mouth and probed hungrily, tangling with her own.

  “Ewww, they’re so sappy,” Chantelle said to Rusty. “Gross. We’re not going to be sappy like them, are we, babe?”

  “Of course not, gorgeous. We’re way too cool for that. Although just so you know, you’re my mate, and if any man looks at you wrong, I’ll wear his balls for a hat.”

  Taylor managed to give the middle finger to her best friend while kissing Cliff, which took a lot of coordination, she thought.

  The sound of the helicopter overhead drew their attention. Time to go back to town. Time to prepare for the last fight.

  As the helicopter landed, a thought occurred to Taylor.

  “Cliff,” she said. “Where’s Shelley? Did she come back to pack lands to change?”

  “I’ll find out. Why do you ask?”

  “Well, I’ve been wondering how Perry and Joel just happened to be there at the restaurant. I saw Brandii in the bathroom about an hour before we all left. She’s friends with Shelley. Well, she’s in awe of Shelley, anyway. I think she called Shelley and told her she saw us, and I think Shelley called Perry and told him. If Joel was spying on you and your pack, he probably found out that Shelley was a werewolf. I suspect Shelley was working with them, to get rid of me.”

  “That bitch. If I find out that’s true…” Cliff didn’t need to finish his thought as he helped her climb onto the helicopter.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The bleachers were arranged in a massive ring around the field. There were thousands of pack members there; all businesses had shut down for the day. This was their future. This fight would determine the direction that the rest of their lives would take.

  There were cameras set up to record the fights from every angle. As usual, Jerrold’s pack, and his group of supporters from Cliff’s pack, sat on the opposite side of the field from Cliff’s pack members. Taylor sat with Mandy, Serafina, Roger and Dax in the front row. There were two empty seats next to Taylor. Chantelle and Rusty hadn’t showed up yet.

  The matches were drawn at random, with Grant fighting Jerrold first.

  The two walked to the center of the field and bowed to each other before shifting.

  Cliff stood with Austin and James and Truman, watching as the two wolves circled each other. The fight was shockingly brief. They snarled and snapped and hurled themselves at each other. Grant flipped Jerrold onto the ground, and Jerrold lay there with his paws waving in the air. No blood had been shed at all. He’d surrendered without a fight.

  Impossible.

  Grant backed up, growling. He stared at Jerrold suspiciously. Jerrold lay there, tongue lolling out, belly and throat exposed.

  He’d forfeited.

  The Elders walked onto the field and signaled to him to get up. He shifted back into human form with a shudder and a snarl, and met their gazes calmly.

  “He wins. I forfeit,” he said, and walked off the field without another word.

  “No fucking way,” Cliff growled. Austin shook his head, staring at Jerrold narrow-eyed. Jerrold glanced back at them, and there was a hint of a smile on his face that Cliff didn’t like. Austin’s low, frustrated growl said that he agreed with him.

  Jerrold was up to something. But what? How could he possibly win by forfeiting?

  Next it was Grant and Austin. This fight lasted a lot longer. Grant and Austin ripped into each other, and Cliff forced himself to remain calm as the blood flowed and the fur flew.

  Finally Austin flopped on the ground and exposed his belly. Cliff had expected that he would, and he strongly suspected that Austin had fought just long enough to put on a good show.

  As the two men limped off the field, still in wolf form, he looked around for Anita on the sidelines, and didn’t see her. There was one other healer there, a man named Saul, from a pack on the far western side of the state, who’d come to provide backup in case the injuries were severe. Strong healers were rare, and Saul would be headed back home at the end of the day.

  “Where’s Anita?” he asked James.

  James glanced at his cell phone. “She texted me that she had to go see Chantelle. Chantelle is having some kind of relapse. That’s why she didn’t make it here this morning.”

  “After she turned? That’s odd.” Cliff glanced up at the bleachers. Now Taylor was gone too. That was too bad. He wanted her near him. She lent him strength and calm. He’d expect her to be with Chantelle if her best friend was in bad shape, though.

  That was terrible news. She’d be crushed if anything happened to Chantelle.

  But he couldn’t afford to be distracted. He’d go to her immediately after the fight. She’d need him, and he’d be there for her.

  He sat down with James and waited for Grant to be sufficiently healed. In about half an hour, Grant came strolling over with a fierce grin. James was looking at his cell phone with a troubled look on his face. Cliff didn’t ask him what was wrong; no distractions.

  Grant was tough, and he fought hard. He scraped a long, bloody furrow across Cliff’s flank with his claws, and held him at bay for several tense minutes with vicious leaps, barking savagely, jaws flecked with foam. He kept low, and each time he lunged, he snapped for Cliff’s throat.

  Cliff barely deflected another leap, snarling as Grant scored an ugly bite to his muzzle, then put all his strength behind a powerful spring, bowling Grant over onto his back and setting his jaws against his throat.

  Grant thrashed and struggled, growling defiance, but Cliff just held him in place, teeth planted in his throat, not biting down but not releasing him either. He wasn’t going to kill his brother unless he forced him to. And Grant would rather die than concede.

  Finally the Elders intervened, declaring Cliff the winner, and he released his brother and stepped back.

  Grant gained his feet mid-shift, seeming to explode back into human form. His face was dark with rage, and for a moment it seemed like he’d hurl himself at Cliff again.

  “How dare you?” he demanded bitterly. “You arrogant son of a bitch.”

  And he stormed away, back rigid with fury, looking like a thwarted force of nature.

  Cliff hurried over to James, with an odd sense of unease clenching at him. Truman and James were talking to each other in low, urgent voices.

  Jerrold stood across the field, on the sidelines, with an enormous smirk on his face. He and his men were near an opening in the bleachers, right by the parking lot. Oswald, Sylvester, Minnie and Phineas were with Jerrold’s men. They were up to something.

  “Sir, I can’t get hold of Anita,” James said as Cliff reached him.

  “I’m on it,” Truman said. He spoke into his walkie-talkie, telling someone to go check on Anita immediately. He put one hand over his free ear, walking away from Cliff and James as he talked.

  Cliff looked at the crowd, searching for Taylor – and his heart dropped. Chantelle and Rusty were walking hand in hand towards their seats. Their hair was mussed and they were smiling hugely. Chantelle’s shirt was buttoned up wrong.

  Chantelle had never been sick – she and Rusty had missed the fight because they’d been screwing their brains out.

  Before Cliff could say a word, the crowd of Jerrold’s men parted and Joel stepped out.

  Fucking Joel. On his land.

  The smile on Jerrold’s face was enormous.

  Shelley stepped out of the crowd too, and a nasty smirk twisted her lips.

  Through the red haze of his rage, Cliff heard Truman speaking. “An armored car has been stopped at the gate. Taylor and Anita inside. Our men have surrounded it, and they scented them in the car, but the driver is refusing to open the door.”

  James let out a bark of rage, and his fangs shot out. “No,” he groaned in an agonized voice.

  Cliff stalked over to Jerrold, with Grant, Cliff, Truman, and a group of Hidden Hills Police closing in behind him.

  All the Elders were gathered by Jerrold no
w, yelling at each other. “I will fucking. Kill. You.” Cliff’s claws curved out of his fingertips as he fixed a look of hatred on Joel.

  “Actually,” Jerrold said. “I’ve been studying pack law very carefully. Now that the full moon has passed, Joel has the right to claim Taylor as his mate, since he was the one who sired her. My men are simply ensuring that Taylor is delivered to a location where he can take possession of her. And Anita attacked my men, so we’re holding her for disciplinary purposes for the time being.”

  Before Cliff could lunge at him, Grant and Austin laid restraining hands on his shoulders. “Do it by the book,” Grant muttered.

  “Joel is subject to the death penalty,” Cliff spat at Jerrold. “He’s a lone wolf, and he killed Serafina’s parents. His father told Taylor that.”

  “Well, neither his father nor Taylor are here right now, are they? So we have no proof of that,” Jerrold said. “Joel says he was attacked and forced to defend himself. And Joel is not a lone wolf, he’s now a member of my pack.” Phineas, Oswald, Sylvester and Minnie nodded, exchanging triumphant glances.

  They would do anything to get their way. They wanted to set the clock back three hundred years, back to times when the Alphas ruled by sheer force and savagery.

  And Shelley’s gloating smirk revealed just how bitter she was about Cliff’s rejection. She had undoubtedly helped hook Joel up with Jerrold, so the three of them could figure out a way to get rid of Taylor.

  “That law is insanely outdated,” Grant argued. “It came from a time hundreds of years ago when there was much less risk of exposure, and when pack population was low. It came from a time when the law allowed human men to rape and beat their wives. Slavery was legal back when that law was passed. People believed the Earth was flat. Not only that, the law is in contradiction with our primary responsibility to keep our existence hidden. Aside from the fact that kidnapping a woman to turn her is a sick, despicable thing to do, it will also invite the attention of the human police and the media.”

  “Nevertheless, the law is in the charter.” Oswald smiled nastily at Grant. “You’re the last one to argue against it.”